Fredipy
by Grayhart
Summary: After Fred's death, George is sent to grief counselling...but the counsellor is a stuckup peacock of a man named Dr. Sulley! Some issues arise when he falls in love with a Muggle girl who works at the grocer's! FUNNY R&R GeorgeOC.
1. Armando Sulley, Grief Counsellor

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wish I owned it. Rowling got there first! (Dammit!) Oh, I do own all Muggles, Dr. Sulley, and Faith Fifer. Please please R&R!! ;)**

**Chapter One: Armando Sulley, Greif Counsellor**

_From the Desk of Dr. Armando P. L. R. Sulley._

_Dear Mr. George Q. Weasley,_

_This note is a simple reminder that you are to attend your first grief counselling today at three o'clock p.m. and lasting until five o'clock p.m. My offices can be found on the corner of Church Street and Main, with the green striped awnings. I will await your letter of acknowledgement. _

_Sincerely, _

_Dr. Armando Sulley._

_-------------------------_

_From the Desk of George Weasley._

_My Dear Doctor Armando P. L. R. Sulley,_

_Shove it._

_I most certainly _do not _need grief counselling. And especially not from a pompous windbag like you._

_Good day._

_Sincerely, _

_Mr. George Q. I. X. Y. Z. A. O. T. H. Weasley. _

_---------------------_

_From the Desk of Dr. Armando P. L. R. Sulley._

_Dear Mr. George Weasley,_

_I was notified that you're behaviour would be somewhat in this vein. This makes me believe even more that you require my assistance. Your appointment is at three o'clock, in the building with the green awnings, on the corner of Church and Main. _

_Oh, and Mr. Weasley, you do not have nearly so many middle initials. Mine stand for Dr. Armando Percival Ludwig Randalf Sulley, in case you were curious._

_Sincerely, _

_Dr. Armando P. L. R. Sulley._

_------------------_

_From the Desk of George Weasley, who Hates Doctors of Any Sort._

_Dr. Armando Percival Ludwig Randalf Sulley,_

_For all you know, I _could _have 9 middle initials. My name could be "George Quentin Ignatius Xavier Yustav Zandrill Adalbert Orville Terrence Horatio Weasley. It isn't. But the point is that it could be. An you can go shove your striped awnings up your arse, I am _not _going to counselling._

_Cheers,_

_Mr. George Q. Weasley._

_------------_

"You can't make me go. There's no way you can make me go."

"George, your mother and I have been through this many times with you. We're only sending you to grief counselling until we think you don't need it any more… We're only trying to make things easier!"

"Listen to your father, George Weasley! And don't make that face, it's awful! You be polite now, and remember to answer _honestly _to all questions Dr. Sulley poses."

"But _you're _not going!"

"In fact, George Weasley, your father and I ARE attending grief counselling with a lovely young witch named Helga. And, despite your father's assurances that it isn't working, I am certain it will become more effective the more we keep at it!"

"Bloody hell, woman! I'm of age, I can make my own choice, can't I?!"

"GEORGE WEASLEY, YOU _MAY _BE OF AGE, BUT I AM STILL YOUR MOTHER, OR SO I SHOULD HOPE!"

"Fine, then, I'll go to the bloody green-striped awnings and talk to a complete and utter prat who I haven't even met, and tell him the deepest darkest secrets in my soul. And _somehow, we'll heal each other."_

"That's the spirit, George! Now, off you go!"

_-----------------_

"George Weasley, or so I presume?"  
"You can stuff it now, I know you already hate me."

_Patient seems to be convinced that the world is against him._

"Now, now, Mr. Weasley, come lie on this couch and we'll get started!"

"I'd rather stand."

_Patient displays no regard for my suggestions._

"Now, now, Mr. Weasley! Just lie down!"

"How many people dribbled their petty problems on you in order for you to be able to afford this?"

"Mr. Weasley, we are not here to talk about _me."_

_Patient does not stay on topic, cannot communicate with other human beings._

"Fine, but don't you try any funny stuff,"

"Oh no, no, no, Mr. Weasley. Just make yourself comfortable. You can start whenever you're ready."

"BLOODY HELL, YOU'RE A STRANGER! I'VE JUST LOST A PART OF MYSELF AND ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT IS YOUR BLOODY SOFA! I'M NOT JUST GOING TO LIE DOWN AND TELL YOU MY LIFE STORY!! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO HEAR ANY OF IT!"

_Patient does not display proper emotional responses when under stress._

"STOP YOUR BLOODY WRITING!"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that for you. It is a part of how I evaluate your grief."

"OH-HO! WELL, I'LL SHOW YOU GRIEF!"

_Patient makes threatening gestures, grabs onto lamps, and stands with feet wide apart._

_He seems to be in a combat stance. _

"Mr. Weasley, I implore you to return my lamp to the table from whence it came."

"MR. SULLEY, I IMPLORE YOU TO RETURN YOURSELF TO HELL, FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!"

_Patient seems incapable of formulating his own coherent sentences and rather modifies the words of others like a badly trained parrot._

"Mr. Weasley, I can see you are clearly upset. Please, allow me to do my job and tell me what's troubling you."

…

_Patient displays signs of perpetual anger. When faced with rational situations, he becomes very red and distraught looking, and has no sense of trust. He shows little/no respect for the premises, and may be apt to leave all appointments early and in a fury, as he has just done._

_A Note to Abigail Spinster, Secretary to Dr. Armando Sulley, Grief Counsellor._

_Abigail-_

_Make sure you replace the empty aspirin bottle in my front cabinet. Also make sure to have someone check up on the antique lamp on the small table in the third anteroom, the one above the green striped awnings, it has been handled rather roughly by a patient of mine._

_Also make sure that the revolver under the fake telephone in my third anteroom above the green striped awnings is fully operational. _

_Oh, yes, and I would like a bacon and egg McMuffin from the Muggle place across the street for breakfast tomorrow._

_-Armando Sulley, Grief Counsellor, alias Your Boss_


	2. Fred Weasley, Brother and Best Friend

**Chapter Two: Fred Weasley, Brother and Best Friend**

"YOU DID WHAT?"

"I stormed out of the office, making sure to slam the door and the outer door and glance murderously at everyone I met, including the ancient secretary."

"AND YOU CALL YOURSELF MY SON! HOW DARE YOU SIT THERE AND SIP YOUR COFFEE LIKE YOU HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING WRONG!"

"He's a prat, mum. He treated me like a child who's ice cream's fallen on the street! He doesn't understand grief. It goes deeper than words and bloody _green awnings!"_

"WELL, GEORGE WEASLEY, YOU ARE ACTING LIKE A CHILD WHO'S ICECREAM HAS FALLEN ON THE STREET! THIS MAN IS TRYING TO HELP YOU---"

"The only thing _Dr. Sulley _wants is to help himself…help himself into _my wallet!"_

"GEORGE WEASLEY, YOU COME BACK HERE THIS INST---"

"We're out of milk. I'm going to go get some at the Muggle grocer's."

"GEORGE! GET BACK HERE!"

"Bye, mum."

----------------------

"Good morning! May I help you?"

"Umm…uh…n-no… No, no, I'm fine!"

"You sure? You seem a little…I don't know, dazed over there."

"N-no. It's nothing, I'm fine."

"You _sure?"_

"Yeah. … … … Actually, I need some help. Where's the milk?"

"Right there."

"Where?"

"Right behind you."

"It comes in…_boxes?"_

"What's the matter, never seen a milk carton before?"

"Ummm…a _carton? _Uh… O-of course, all the time! … They're just… You know, um---different colours. Where I come from!"

"Oh-kay. … … … Should I ring you through, then?"

"You can ring me through any time."

"Oh, _God,_ you're not one of _those _blokes, are you?"

"Oh, no, 'course not! I was just being witty. You know. You're supposed to laugh now. Come on, I know you have it in you!"

"Ha ha."

"Tsk tsk… Mirthless. And here I was, thinking you'd turn out to be a girl who could take a joke."

"Oh, well, I can take a joke. Thing is, jokes are usually funny."

"Funny is my middle name."

"Ugh. How many times have I heard _that _one before. Well, actually, usually the bloke will use 'sexy.'"

"I could go with that too. George Quentin Funny Sexy Weasley."

"Is that your idea of being charming? 'Cause I'll tell you right now, it's not."

"Well, if it's not, then why are you still talking to me? You've already rung me through."

"Oh, I don't know, not everyone is a boorish slob who'll flirt with the girl behind the bloody _meat counter_ in the bloody _grocer's._ Some people were born with manners."

"So… It's _boorish _to flirt harmlessly and without being any more forward than usual with the cute but sarcastic deli girl, who hopefully will now tell me her name?"

"Nope. Nothing doing."

"After I worked so _hard _at this? You're supposed to tell me your _name, _not straighten chapsticks on the peg behind the counter, which, by the way, don't need to be straightened."

"They do need to be straightened from time to time. I have to keep busy. It's a Sunday, in a tiny little green grocer's in a tiny little town. Not much is going on around here."

"You and I are."

"_Pardon?"_

"You and I have it going on.

…

Come on now, it's harmless, really, you should try it. You know, _being friendly. _Some people are better at it than others."

"Look, George Quentin Weasley, what do you want? A chapstick? Sliced turkey?"

"Well… _Your name _might be nice, actually. Hint hint."

"Ha ha. Can't you read, you boorish slob? I'm wearing a nametag."

"Fithe. That's…very unique."

"_Faith, _actually."

"Oh, yes, naturally. Faith What?"

"Fifer. Faith Fifer."

"Isn't that the name of the grocery store? Fifer's?"

"It's my father's grocery store. But he's off skiing with my mum, so I'm sort of operating it now."

"Oh. So you're a business-woman?"

"Ugh! No!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's better than it sounds."

"_No, _I'm not a business-woman, I'm the proprietor of a grocer's."

"_And _you work behind the meat counter. And the cash register."

"Well, my brother's supposed to work the cash register, but he's not around a whole lot."

"Er… Your parents are skiing, your brother's pulled a disappearing act. Sounds like you're alone a whole lot."

"That would be nice. If it was true."

"Oh?"

"My Nona."

"Fifer… What is that, _Sicilian_?"

"Hah, you think you're funny, don't you? Prat. My dad's English. My _mum's_ Italian. Nona…well, she's about as Italian as it's possible to get. Bottles tomato sauce and everything, grows her own basil. Washes the floor once, sometimes twice a day. Apron. Iron gray hair."

"Sounds like a lovely woman."

"She is, most of the time."

"Oh, well, I don't like the sound of 'most of the time.'"

"HEY YOU, BY THE DOOR! DON'T TOUCH THE PRODUCE WITH YOUR HANDS UNLESS YOU PLAN TO BUY IT---! Bloody hell, some of these people…"

"I know what you mean. There's nothing worse than pre-handled produce, including Global Warming and the Black Death. And let's not forget scurvy, or being shot either."

"Oh shove it!"

"At least you're laughing this time!"

"Got me there --- HEY, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT THAT PRO---! Ummm… Well, see you soon?"

"Same time, same place? In about a week, that is."

"Um… Sure, why not?"

"'Bye…Faith, was it?"

"Yes."

----------------------

"GEORGE WEASLEY, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? AND WHY IS THERE ONLY ONE QUART OF MILK IN THE BAG, I'M SURE WE'LL RUN OUT BEFORE THE END OF THE WEEK?!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist mum! I was just talking to somebody."

"A STRANGER?!? I THOUGHT I HAD TAUGHT YOU BETTER THAN THAT, GEORGE WEASLEY!"

"Not a stranger. At least, not anymore. The person in the grocery store."

"Who is this PERSON? Why haven't I heard of them before?"

"Well, mum, she's---"

"_She's??? _A girl, George?? Or, rather hopefully, a young woman?! Is she nice? Polite? Clean? Pleasant? Intelligent? What did you talk about? Does she like you? What's her name?!"

"Yeah, mum, actually… She must be about nineteen. No older than that. Fairly nice, if by nice you mean 'hostile.' Er, clean? Yeah, I guess so. Intelligent, she'd have to be, she's got a tongue like a hot poker. We didn't talk about much, really, and no, I don't think she likes me. And her name's Faith. Fifer."

"_Fifer… _Hmm… Doesn't ring a bell, is she half-blood? Not that it matters, of course… Actually, I think I _do _know a Fifer, maybe a close relation… Oh GEORGE, it's so nice for you to be interacting with young witches and wizards your own age!"

"But that's _it _mum, she's a M-"

"Magnificent person! I'm sure, George, I'm sure… Maybe Arabella'll know where the name comes from… _Fifer…"_

"No, MUM! She's a Mug-"  
"Now, now, George, I'm sure she's as magnificent a person as can be. Oh, you're such a lovely, harmless boy, I'm sure she likes you very much already. Why don't you have her over?"  
"_Have her over? _Isn't that sort of _fast? _I met her, what? _Four _minutes ago?_"_

"Oh, don't be _silly, _George, I was young once too! You must have been seeing her for the past, oh, several months at least for you to mention her today!"

"Er, mum… I'm sure the world has changed a little since then. You know. We have, you know, _cars _and things today. There aren't any dinosaurs any more, either, or have you failed to notice?"

"_Don't _get mouthy with me, George. You may be of age but you're still my son, and I know you best! We're going to need pork chops…Oh, and sauce, and some eggs, probably four or five salads…and then chicken, pasta, some sort of seafood, too…Oh, George, dear, I can't wait to meet her! Just ask her, won't you?!"

"MUM, I--! Oh, Merlin, what's the _use?"_

----------------------

_From the Desk of Dr. Armando P. L. R. Sulley._

_Dear Mr. George Q. Weasley,_

_This note is a simple reminder that you are to attend your second grief counselling today at three o'clock p.m. and lasting until five o'clock p.m. My offices can be found on the corner of Church Street and Main, with the green striped awnings. I will await your letter of acknowledgement. _

_Sincerely, _

_Dr. Armando Sulley._

----------------------

_From the Desk of George Bloody-Well-Ticked Weasley._

_Dr. Sulley, Do you ever bloody well learn? I don't care for grief therapy. I am not coming. I refuse the fact that you sent me that letter. In fact, I have burned your letter. And again, please, do take into consideration that you shove your awnings up----_

_Dear Mr. Sulley, I am Mrs. Molly Weasley, George Weasley's mother. I have noticed that his writing to you has become somewhat violent in nature… But fear not! He's a gentle and compassionate boy who really needs the love and guidance of his family (and certified health professionals) in his grief. He WILL be attending his grief counselling. And he will be attending every week on Thursdays. I plan to enforce this policy! _

_Sincerely,_

_Mrs. M. Weasley._

_---------------------_

"I can't believe I'm here again."

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley! Please, take a seat."

"Alright. But not on the couch bed."

"Why not?"

"It's your status symbol, Sulley. I'm not lying on your couch bed. You're not a real shrink!"

"No, you're very right. There's no shrinking in this office, only growing."

"ARGH!"

"Please, Mr. Weasley! Leave my lamp alone!"

"I didn't even _touch it, I didn't LOOK at it!"_

"Yes. But it was expensive."

_The patient still resists all reasonable suggestion and entered this session completely frustrated._

"Oh, Merlin… Have mercy, let me die!"

_Patient is thinking of committing suicide._

"Mr. Weasley. We do not use the word 'die' in this office."

"Die, die, die, die!"

_Patient is displaying signs of aggression. He seems to think that the life of my extremely important person is about to end or is suffering from the delusion that he can cause my death only with words. He is utterly calm, and mutters his words with antagonising slowness._

"By all means, if it makes you feel better, please continue. … You're being very silent, Mr. Weasley. Would you mind taking a seat?"

"Yes. I would mind. I would mind very much. I'm not lying on that bloody couch bed."

"Why not?"

"You know, Sulley, I think we may actually have been through this before,"

"You make a very clever observation."

"Does that mean I can leave?"

"Of course. You can leave. But you still have to pay me for the entire session."

"What are you, an extortionist?!"

"Perhaps. What are you?"

"Bloody ticked!"

_Patient is prone to understatement._

"Now, Mr. Weasley… Would you mind telling me why you're so angry?"

"Oh, _Merlin, _I--- You really have a good time jerking people around, don't you?"

_Patient lacks a sense of respect for his superiors._

"You are aware, Mr. Weasley, that I do not want you here? In fact, having my time taken up by a red-haired, big-nosed young ingrate is not my idea of 'a good time.'"

"Well, quite frankly, Sulley my man, I have much more important things to do than talk to small, wrinkly and thoroughly unpleasant toadies such as yourself."

_Patient applies inappropriate adjectives to persons of authority. Doctor Sulley is not a small, wrinkly, and thoroughly unpleasant toady. I, Dr. Sulley, am an exceptionally attractive and singularily personable, reasonable, and intelligent man._

"Now that you've thoroughly insulted me, young whelp, would you _please _take a seat?"

"Fine, but I'm not lying down."

"Very well. Now, please, tell me about your grief."

"My dog died. I'm _very _broken up about it."

_Patient lacks a sense of humour._

"Somehow, Mr. Weasley, that is not amusing."

"Alright then. Well… My twin brother…F-Fred. He was…he was killed. Four months ago."

"I see."

_Patient is prone to mood swings. At one given moment he will be excessively angry and then he will be excessively sad._

"But he wasn't just my _brother._ He was my best friend. We did everything together…I mean, he _was _my twin. And people would always say we were exactly alike…Troublemakers, you know? But he was always the one who had the ideas, he was the one…he was the cleverer of us, I think."

"Please, go on,"

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL AM I DOING HERE?!"

_Patient suffers from short-term memory loss._

"You are in grief counselling."

"_I BLOODY WELL KNOW THAT!"_

"Tell me, Mr. Weasley, what would your brother Frederick have done?"

"HIS NAME WAS _FRED, _YOU SODDY OLD MAN!"

"Yes, well. What would your brother Frederick have done?"

"HE WOULD HAVE CALLED YOU A SODDY OLD MAN, AND HE WOULD HAVE LEFT THE OFFICE!"

_Patient is very much like his brother Frederick._


End file.
